


And Our Minds Are Even Crazier

by QueenOfNewOrleans22



Series: The Cloverfield [3]
Category: Bon Jovi (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Sexual Content, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-19
Updated: 2020-12-04
Packaged: 2021-03-08 19:07:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27351700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenOfNewOrleans22/pseuds/QueenOfNewOrleans22
Summary: Two months after their resolution, things have started to look up for Richie and Jon, allowing them to move past their struggles and find a common ground. They've started a tentative relationship, and things are looking up for the first time in a long time.Jon is having dreams - about Richie, about Janie, and about the monsters that haunt them.Richie is concerned, but is struggling under the wrong of his stressful job and a want to succeed.Nothing is ever what is seems, and worse yet, nobody is ever what they say.
Relationships: Jon Bon Jovi/Richie Sambora, Tommy Lee/Nikki Sixx
Series: The Cloverfield [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1948087
Comments: 30
Kudos: 10





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm tired, depressed, filled with anxiety, and this chapter took me more time than I must admit.

_She was touching him._

_Gentle fingertips and lips that ghosted against his skin, making him shiver in placid anticipation._

_Her perfume lingered in the air, and it was almost tantalizing enough to make him forget._

_Almost._

" _Get off me." Jon demanded, feeling like a prison, his body confined under her weight, which was ridiculous, except it wasn't, not at all._

_Janie leaned down. "But you like this, Jonny. Didn't you say that you wanted me?"_

_Yes, no, maybe, millions of answers and questions and only two people, locked in an eternal battle for power._

_Jon shook his head so hard that it made his neck crick painfully. "Not you, her." He said, and the words came out like a desperate gasp._

_They were in a bed that didn't feel comfortable, in an apartment that neither of them had stepped foot in for over a year. It was so dark that it was nearly impossible to see beyond two inches, and that - well, it was concerning._

_"Oh, honey." Janie cooed, as if she were talking to a child, her fingertips tracing alongside Jon's jaw. "You always were so smart."_

_And the perfume disappeared, only to be replaced by the sickening smell of rotting flesh, and Janie leaned down, and her face was falling apart, pieces of her jaw visible underneath her peeling flesh._

_Jon screamed._

-\\-\\-\\-

He bolted upright, like an actor in a movie, except this was no fantasy. 

Jon couldn't see straight, and tears blurred his vision. 

"Are you okay?" Richie slurred, still mostly asleep, only coherent enough to sleepily reach over and grasp for Jon in the darkness, succeeding in only grabbing the younger man by the hip in what was supposed to be an attempt to comfort but just reminded Jon of the woman he'd lost. 

Swallowing thickly, Jon nodded, and started to move away, slowly and gently to avoid suspicion. "I'm gonna go get a glass of water." He whispered, slipping out from underneath the blanket and carefully walking out of the room, weary of not making a single noise, like there was more at stake than Richie awakening from his slumber. 

Who knew? Maybe there was. 

The kitchen light flicked on, and it took Jon a minute to get used to the overtly bright light, blinking his eyes and trying to gather himself before padding towards the cupboards, where he retrieved a glass cup, and then toward the faucet. He filled the cup and then stood there, staring at the clear liquid, before just giving up and dumping it down the drain, watching as it swirled around in the sink before disappearing completely. 

Frank leaped up on the counter, meowed once, and pawed at the air. 

"Oh, you're just pathetic." Jon said, amused by the display. 

Bright green eyes stared back at him, undaunted by the words. 

Jon chuckled and reached over, picking the cat up and burying his face in soft fur, trying to erase the remembrance of the dream from his mind. Frank had been a birthday gift that Jon hadn't necessarily wanted but wouldn't trade for the world. 

In the months that followed Janie's suicide, Jon had shut himself off from the world, and disappeared into the old apartment that they had lived in. Frank had been Jon's rock, the one being in his life who could provide the needed stability. 

"Do you miss Janie?" Jon whispered, not fully aware that he had spoken until the words fell into the air, unanswered. "Do you miss her?" 

The cat meowed, and then let out a throaty pur as Jon's fingers worked into his soft fur. 

Jon knew that he needed to move on. 

That's what the internet said, anyways. 

But couldn't he move at his own pace? Jon didn't feel like he needed to automatically forget the woman that he had known and loved for years. It hadn't been a perfect relationship, but there was love, and devotion, and respect, and the day that it all happened could still be remembered with frightening clarity. 

Hands were on his shoulders, working at his tense muscles. 

Jon flinched, whirling around, only to see Richie there, bedraggled but fully awake, probably having rolled over in bed, and relaxed that Jon had been away for much longer than intended. 

"Sorry." Richie said, flashing a cheeky little smile, as if he'd meant to do it. "I just woke up and realized that the bed was very, very cold." 

Apologetic, Jon leaned up and kissed Richie on the cheek, chaste and unwilling to go any further. "I was just enjoying the silence." He said, hoping that the lie would be enough to suffice. 

Richie shrugged. "No harm, no foul. But you can, y'know, enjoy the silence in bed." He said, nodding towards the bedroom, and then reaching over and wrapping his arm around Jon's shoulders, pulling him close. 

It'd been two months since they had gotten back together, and one month since they'd began to spend nights over at each other's apartments. It was a rough transition, and time had been needed to get used to each other again. They were totally different people with odd habits and quirks, but both of them were determined to make it work. 

But Jon loved Richie so much that none of it mattered, and just having the older man back in his life made Jon ready and willing to do anything and everything, if only for Richie to never leave again. 

Which was pathetic, but Jon wasn't interested in analyzing himself at that moment. 

"You're thinking of Janie again, aren't you?" Richie said, suddenly intense. 

It wasn't a question. 

Jon frowned. "Maybe." He replied softly, gazing out towards the painting that Tico had given him months ago, a waterfall that cascaded down into a sea of colors. 

Maybe Richie was offended about the simple fact, but Jon didn't know how he was supposed to stop thinking about her when she'd ruled his thoughts for the past year and hadn't stopped since. 

Every night, Jon saw her body, bloody and broken, on the ground. 

And it would never stop. 

"It's okay." Richie said, tone light, purposefully so. 

But Jon knew that Richie was hurt by the implication that most of Jon's sleeping hours were spent, dreaming of a woman who was rotting underneath the ground, long having died. Jon couldn't blame his lover in the slightest for those feelings, but there was no way to stop those dreams of love turned into fear, of a beautiful woman morphed into a dreadful corpse. 

Jon could still feel her skin against his own. 

"No, it isn't." Jon sighed, running his hand through his hair, hating how Richie was looking at him like he was a damned mental patient. "Do you want coffee? I'm going to make coffee." 

Without waiting for an answer, Jon made his way toward the coffee pot, letting the cat leap down onto the floor as he did so, and began fiddling with the machine aimlessly. Jon felt nauseous from the dream, but knew that not getting any caffeine would just make Richie suspicious. 

Hadn't they been through enough already? 

Janie had chosen her path in life, and that ended in death. As much as that fact stung, Jon knew that there was no way to change such a thing, and didn't bother with those drugged-up fantasies any longer. But now, Jon could confidently say that happiness was just a few feet away, much closer than it had been previously, anyways, and now, Janie was rearing her head, and Richie probably was going to start feeling neglected or something, and then-

Stop it. 

Richie sat down at the dining table, tapping his finger absently on the word wood that Janie had once sat at, and Jon forced himself to stop thinking like that because those days were long gone but the memories still remained. 

He would choose Richie over Janie any day of the week, but that didn't erase years of marriage. 

Oh god, why now? 

"What are you gonna do?" Richie asked conversationally, eyebrows raised in an attempt to seem nonchalant. 

Jon turned away from the machine. "What?" 

Looking concerned, like this was yet another sign of growing insanity, Richie jerked his head toward the telephone. "Your mom, Jonny. She wants us to visit, remember?" 

That was true- Mrs. Bongiovi was quite eager to see Richie, the man who had filled the hole in her son's heart, who she had long believed to have left long ago, and had been calling on routine for the past few weeks, demanding to know when they would visit. Jon had finally cracked under all the pressure and said that he would visit in a few days, but hadn't specified. 

"Oh...oh, shit." Jon stared at the phone, unsure of what he was supposed to do. 

His parents, and brothers, by proxy, had been pushed away by Jon during his years of solitude, but had always been there, calling and dropping by without announcing themselves, still making sure that Jon hadn't gone through with his half-made plans and offed himself, trying to get him go open up despite his rather harsh responses. 

They had been overjoyed when Jon had finally started calling back, and that somehow made it all worse. 

Richie furrowed his eyebrows, confusion and concern marring his features. "Jon, are you sure that you're okay?" He asked, standing up and striding quickly to where Jon was standing, watching as the coffee brewed. "You've been acting weird for days now. This isn't just Janie, is it?" 

"No, but trust me, I don't have a secret lover." Jon said, hoping that his roigh attempt at a joke would help warm the situation up, and Richie laughed, tossing his head back, all smiles. 

"Are you sure?" Richie said, amused, tilting his head down so that he could nuzzle into Jon's neck, making him smile. "Because I wouldn't exactly be complaining." 

There were times when the darkness seemed too much to bear, and other times when life seemed so good that it almost felt like a dream. Sometimes, Jon refused to believe that it was all real - surely, it must've been a dream, because he had Richie back, and after everything that had happened, it seemed too good to be true. 

But Richie was there, and Jon could feel his heartbeat, strong and steady, and dared himself to believe that it would remain. _This -_ a second chance for them to finally be happy. 

Richie's smile faded. "You're not going to tell me what's wrong, are you?" He said, his hands wandering down Jon's waist, as if savoring each and every glancing touch. 

The statement made Jon want to scream. "I'm sorry." He said. "This isn't fair to you." 

_That_ was an understatement. Of course it wasn't fair to Richie, because he was having to deal with it - the uncertainty of what might be going through Jon's head at any given time. Maybe Richie thought Jon was going to try and off himself again. 

Jon knew that, if that was the case, then Richie would've been put up to his by his family. Not that Jon could blame them, really, but it would never stop hurting whenever his mother's gaze took a chancing downward spiral to the scars that were always hidden, but would never disappear.

Despite this, the sting of betrayal lingered. 

"It's fine." Richie was back to smiling again. "The king of swing ain't ever bothered." He leaned down and caught Jon's lips in a chaste kiss that seemed to wipe away all of those bad emotions and replace them with the certainty that they were back together again, that, at least for now, everything was fine. 

Except it wasn't. 

Jon sighed. "I gotta go take a shower. Or do you want to go first?" He raised his eyebrows in silent question. 

"I gotta call my mom, so go ahead." Richie kissed Jon once more before walking away toward the dining table. "I'll get the coffee, too." 

"Are you sure?" Jon asked for clarification. 

Richie nodded. "Yeah. You don't make good coffee, anyways." 

The jab was made in good humor, and Jon chuckled to himself, walking out of the living room and back into his bedroom. They'd been back together for two months, but Richie had started to spend the night around a month prior. Jon was happy to not be sleeping alone anymore, but it'd taken awhile to get used to there being another body in the bed. 

Despite this, they still hadn't had sex. 

On the surface level, it was just another thing for Jon to feel guilty about, but beyond that, it was bothering both of them. Richie pretended like he was fine with it, but Jon was no idiot, and he saw the way that Richie looked at him. They'd had a few passionate making out sessions like they were two adventurous but prude teenagers, but besides that, only kisses would separate that thin barrier. 

Truth be told, Jon didn't want Richie to see the scars on his wrists, and knew, he just _knew,_ that the moment that there was no clothes to separate them, and when those dark brown eyes that Jon loved so much flicked down, and saw those horrible marks, then it would be all over. 

Jon shut the door and turned on the shower, having to take a moment before he was able to undress. Richie was probably losing his patience, and Jon couldn't blame him. 

But in spite of this certainty, Jon couldn't let himself be seen without a shirt. 

The shower was quick, and only perfunctory. Jon washed himself and didn't linger, maybe out of desperation to see Richie again - or perhaps, fear that he would leave again. Jon knew that he was being ridiculous, but couldn't help it. 

He dressed, brushed his teeth, made some attempt at combing his hair, and then walked back out into the living room. 

Richie was drinking coffee and standing by the sink in the kitchen, scrolling his phone, probably texting. He looked up when Jon walked in, and he smiled, so bright and happy that it was almost impossible. 

"Hey there." Richie said. 

Jon came to stand beside him. "Hey." He replied, resting his head on Richie's shoulder. "What are you looking at?" 

"Just texting my mom." Richie replied, shutting his phone off and setting it aside. 

"Oh." Jon nodded, perhaps to himself. "How is she doing?" He asked. Jon had always liked both of Richie's parents - they were the sort of people who never failed to make somebody feel welcome. 

Richie sighed. "As well as she can." He replied, and the hidden meaning behind his words were too noticeable to be ignored. Jon had never been good at comforting people - had never really been good with people in general, unless he was trying to charm them or something, but he had always tried. 

Leaning up, Jon wrapped his arm around Richie's neck. "I know it hurts." He mumbled, stroking his thumb over the back of the older man's neck. "You know you can always talk with me about it, right?" He hoped so, anyways. 

Richie nodded. "Yeah." He smiled weakly, but it didn't quite hide the sadness. "I just wish he was here to see us get together again." He buried his face against the curve of Jon's neck. "I miss him." 

Jon didn't know what to say, didn't even know if anything could be said, so he just squeezed Richie's shoulders, hoping that the touch would reassure him in any way possible of everything - of the love that hummed underneath like an electrical current, not quite spoken, but always there. 

They stood like that for a few minutes, just enjoying the early morning quiet, taking their time. Richie looked up, his eyes looking suspiciously red, but there were no tears. He looked toward one of the walls, probably trying to compose himself. "Sorry." He mumbled. 

"Don't be." Jon kissed his cheek, trying to catch his eyes so that he could make sure that Richie knew that he had nothing to be ashamed of. After all, it'd only been, what - two years? Jon would still be stuck in one of his depressive episodes if his own father had died. Thankfully, such a thing hadn't happened, and hopefully wouldn't, but he knew that Richie was trying to hold it together the best he could. 

Richie chuckled. "Your coffee is getting cold." He pointed out, but he made no move to pull away, and neither did Jon. 

"So?" Jon was untroubled by the statement. 

For a moment, they stared at each other, and in that moment, a silent communication seemed to pass through them. Jon broke apart and turned to fix up his coffee, pouring as much milk in as he could without ruining the whole thing. 

They'd managed to get back into their routine fairly easily, but there were still moments of unintentional coldness that often left both of them feeling dejected.

In many ways, they were similar, but otherwise, they were polar opposites. Richie craved affection and attachment, love and constant touches, and he was warm and kind - sweet, almost, like he was full of such love for everybody around him that he couldn't contain himself. But with that came a want for that affection to be reciprocated, and Jon had a hard time showing it. 

By a stark comparison, Jon was detached and relatively cold, awkward at the worst of times and superficially charming at best. When he was around people that he loved, he loved them wholeheartedly, but had a hard time showing them that love, and with Richie, it was made even worse by their history. Jon was easily irritated by large amounts of affection, and never reacted well if he wasn't in the mood. 

Richie pressed up against Jon's back like a clingy monkey. "You know, you can just add sugar. It makes it sweet better than milk can." He said, lips ghosting against the side of Jon's neck. After all this time, Richie hadn't forgotten those spots that never failed to make Jon blush like a school boy. It was amusing but otherwise rather surprising, considering Richie's issues with his memory. 

"I'm not in the mood for sugar." Jon replied, but then he laughed and shrunk into himself when Richie kissed his neck. "This early? Really?" He smiled, but it didn't quite seem that natural anymore.

Richie hated it, but didn't mention it for once. 

"Okay. But what about my sugar?" Richie paused, and he frowned. "What's that one song? Um, 'livin' like a lover with a radar phone'? You used to listen to it all the time." He snapped his fingers. "By that one british band?" 

Jon took a sip of his coffee. "Pour some sugar on me?" He said. 

"Haha. Yes!" Richie nodded eagerly. 

Amused despite himself, Jon pat Richie on the shoulder. "We're not taking advice from a couple of guys we don't even know about sex, Rich." He said. 

Richie looked offended. "I didn't say that!" He motioned in the air vaguely. "I was just saying that it reminded me of the song, that's all." 

"Yeah, sure." Jon rolled his eyes playfully. 

Glancing at the clock, Richie made a startled noise, hurriedly drank the rest of his coffee, and gave Jon one last kiss. "I gotta go shower. Give me twenty minutes - no, thirty, actually. I need to shave." 

Jon nodded and watched as Richie jogged off into the bathroom, hearing as the shower turned on a moment later. God, he was so ridiculous, but Jon was quite fond of Richie's cheerful demeanor that offset hid own moodiness. 

The sound of his phone ringing made Jon nearly jump out of his skin, and he whirled around, grasping blindly for the phone in question. He swiped it open, and wasn't entirely surprised to see who it was - his mother. 

"Hey, mom." Jon said, hoping to sound more casual than he felt as he leaned against the countertops. He looked up at the ceiling, as if praying for some sort of help that would never come because this was his penance. 

His mother was cheerful, per usual. "Hi, honey. I've been waiting for you to answer." She was practically yelling. 

Jon shook his head affectionately. "Sorry, mom. I just woke up." It wasn't technically a lie, nor was it the truth. 

"I was just going to say that we've all been missing you." Mrs. Bongiovi said, her voice tinged with an undercurrent of implications. "Your father's been driving himself crazy with making plans for Matthew's birthday - you know how he is with that sort of thing."

"Yeah." Jon cringed, having forgotten about the upcoming celebration. 

_"And."_ Mrs. Bongiovi continued. "I've been wanting to see Richie again." 

"And you'll get to see Richie." Jon said, taking another sip of his coffee. It was lukewarm and gross, but he needed the caffeine. "Soon." He added. 

Mrs. Bongiovi made a pleased sound. "It's your choice, hon." She said, as if she wasn't planning an elaborate scheme to get what she wanted. Shirley Bongiovi was a very determined woman, and couldn't be persuaded otherwise. "Oh, how about you come before the party starts and take Richie with you?" 

"I'm not sure Matt would appreciate that." Jon replied. 

" _Before_ the party, sweetheart. Unless you want to come earlier?" Mrs. Bongiovi was needling, and Jon hated it. 

"No, that's fine." Jon replied. 

Mrs. Bongiovi was smiling, Jon could tell. He could hear it in her voice.

"Thank you, Jon. I gotta go now, but you best call me tonight, otherwise I'll make your father come over. I love you." Mrs. Bongiovi sounded saddened, as she always did when their phone calls ended. She didn't like not having kids around to keep her, and quote, 'young.' 

"I love you too, mom." Jon hung up, and he looked back at the bedroom, toward the one person who would ever understand his reluctance, and even then, not fully. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the late updates. I have schoolwork and lots of studying to do, and online learning is easier than physically going to school but it still sucks and I haven't been feeling well mentally. Like, I've been really tired and I'm at the point where nothing makes sense but it makes too much sense at the same time and everything hurts but I'm only making myself hurt so I can't complain, but I'm complaining

"Okay." Richie said. "I'll stop by later. Is that good with you?" He was halfway out the door, wedged between the wall and the piece of wood, as if he wasn't quite ready to go, just yet. And even though Jon would never say it, he didn't want him to go, either. 

' _What are you doing to me, Rich?'_ Jon thought as he reached out and adjusted the collar of Richie's shirt. "Yeah, that sounds nice." He agreed, leaning in for another kiss, one that ended when, in the distance, a few angry yells could be heard from outside. 

There was a small part of Jon that didn't like the solitude, but at the same time, he craved it. Maybe it was just Richie - that man was a part of Jon's life that he desperately needed. 

Now, the sun was beginning to come up from beyond the horizon, and cast a bright orange glow into the apartment, morphing the chill into a blissful warmth that made the apartment feel much mire inviting. 

"Have a good day - oh, I feel like a housewife." Jon pulled back and rubbed the bridge of his nose with a rueful smile. 

Richie laughed, and kissed him once more. "You'd make a good one." He said. 

"Fuck off." Jon slapped Richie's shoulder and pushed him out the door, listening to his humored response before the door shut. Jon slid the locks into place and, with a sigh that seemed to come from deep within his soul, walked away, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jacket. 

The idea of writing was enough to make Jon want to toss the laptop out a window and watch as it fell and crashed onto the ground. He needed to do it, but one more day wouldn't hurt, right? 

Procrastination was the bane of a writer's existence, truly. 

Jon opened the cat's food, and stood there for a minute, watching as Frank chowed down fast enough that his head was merely a blur, and then Jon walked into his bedroom to get whatever cleaning he needed to do done to at least keep himself productive. 

He put the clothes in the dirty laundry, put a load into the washing machine, and then washed their dirty mugs from coffee. Jon rolled up his sleeves to avoid getting them wet, and purposefully avoided looking down at those scars that would forever be there, just because Jon got a little too into his head. 

With the dishes done, Jon rolled his sleeves back down, and opened up the calendar on his phone. He scrolled a week ahead, and made a schedule for visiting his mother. With his luck, Jon would forget, and then spend the rest of his life making up for it. 

Jon was worried about Richie, and how his family would react to him and so on, so forth. They didn't know the full truth about everything that'd happened, and Jon was determined to keep it that way. But they were inquisitive and persistent beyond belief, so Jon was worried that they'd figure out something was wrong. 

Matthew and Anthony, in particular, would stick their noses into places where they didn't belong, and raise hell, as they usually did. Jon wondered if he could just tell them, and then make a bribe or threat so that they didn't tell anybody, but knew that it wouldn't work. Neither of Jon's brothers had been threatened by him since the eighties, after all. 

"Damn it." Jon hissed, cursing the uncertainty of it all. 

Looking around the apartment, Jon knew that he was going to drive himself crazy, and so he stuffed his phone into his pocket and grabbed a pair of shoes, slipping them on. He needed fresh air to help clear the rampant thoughts that were beginning to go wild, so Jon opened the door and ducked out into the hallway, hoping in some distant way that he could just disappear. 

Luckily, nobody was there to intercept him, and Jon walked out of the apartment building, looking down at his phone as a message popped up. Stopping at the edge of the sidewalk, Jon looked up - and felt himself shiver. He needed to go to the doctor again, just to make sure things were healing as they should've been, but Jon didn't like hospitals, so he was avoiding it. Richie needed to go the hospital too, now that the thought had come up, for his memory. 

Looking both ways, Jon quickly crossed the street. He didn't fancy getting hit again, especially with his ribs. Lord knows that they wouldn't appreciate having to go through all of that again - each deep breathe reminded Jon of what had happened. 

Jon didn't actually know where he was going, but he did know that he wanted to get far, far away. The air was cold and fresh, and there was a nice breeze. A good day for an aimless walk when you had work to do, Jon figured, and then he felt his neck heat up in shame. There was countless things that needed to be done, and while everybody else was getting their things done, Jon was taking a walk. 

All because he wasn't in the mood to write. 

But actually thinking about writing was far different than actually putting words on the screen. Thoughts into sentences. A story on a screen and, later, on paper for the world to read. The popularity of a book was measured by the writer, not the people behind it. Although, Jon supposed that he _was_ the person behind it. 

After all, his name wasn't on the book, and never would be.

Jon was just the guy who wrote the book, and they were the people who sold it and took the goddamn popularity. 

' _Wow. Bitter, are you? You signed up for the job. You took all of those courses and signed all of those agreements. You've been doing this for how many years now, but have decided, just today, to start complaining about how all you get is a 'thanks' and a nice paycheck? Chin up, and stop being a baby about it.'_

As he walked down easy street, Jon kicked a pebble, and watched as it slid across the pavement and tumbled into a storm drain. He watched the little pebble disappeared into the darkness, never to be seen again, and Jon knew he needed to stop being a baby about things, because Richie went out and probably was being bored to death by whatever paralegals did, but he couldn't help it. 

Self-pity was a terrible thing. 

Jon stopped, suddenly, realizing that he'd been walking for awhile, and ribs had started to hurt but Jon was only just starting to notice it now. He was on a front street corner, and somebody was yelling loudly about a car and - 

The apartment building loomed over him. 

Once upon a time, Janie and he had lived there. 

They'd been happy. 

Hadn't they? 

"Oh, Jane." Jon looked down at the newspaper laying underneath one of his boots. He stepped back and looked at the headline - _HOME BURGLARIZED!_

Jon's breathe caught in his throat as he remembered the dream, and how he hadn't visited Janie's grave in two weeks. She probably thought that something wa - "She's dead." Jon said to himself. He raised his hand, and pinched the skin on the back of it. "Dead. Gone. Buried." 

But Janie lingered - a ghost in all senses but one, and her spirit clung to the apartment building. Jon had moved out shortly after her death, unable to deal with her silent stares, and hadn't even been able to clean out the apartment properly because he'd been too much of a mess. He'd simply packed his clothing, grabbed the cat, gave the old lady downstairs a hundred dollars in apology and left. He'd broken the lease, but that was fine, because Jon felt like Janie's presence would drive him to his own death. 

The market on the first floor of the building was boarded up. The old lady had probably died. Jon couldn't remember her name. Caroline? Christine? It didn't matter. 

Jon flinched when his phone rang, and one of the vagrants down the street gave him a nasty look. Jon recognized him, but didn't care to mention it. He grabbed his phone and held it close, squinting down at the name. It was a number that he didn't recognize, so he declined it, and then looked back up at the building. 

A part of Jon wanted to go inside. He wanted to feel the wallpaper underneath his fingertips, see what remained of the home he'd once known. But then Jon stepped backwards, knowing that he couldn't. 

His phone ringed again. 

Without looking down, Jon muted it. 

' _If you go in there, you'll never come back out again.'_

One of the windows was broken, undoubtedly letting on all sorts of birds and leaves, which probably meant that mold was beginning to take over. Jon's heart ached at the thought of the apartment being ruined, but it shouldn't have hurt so badly, because it didn't matter, right? Jon didn't leave there anymore. 

Nobody did. 

Turning around suddenly, Jon began to walk, knowing that if he didn't leave, then he never would. But, the thing was, that Jon had never left. Not truly, anyways. He had long moved away, but a part of him remained there with Janie, whose presence lingered, unspoken hate in her eyes. 

Wait, no, not hate. 

' _Indiffrence.'_ Jon's mind supplied. ' _Hate implies that you still care enough about someone to hate them. Indifference is nothing.'_

He arrived back home. 

The cat was loudly playing with a squeaky toy on top of the bookshelf, and the apartment was quiet. 

Jon wandered into his bedroom, still wearing his shoes. And on the bedside table was a single picture - Richie, smiling. A month previously, they'd visited a national park, and Jon had brought his camera, and he'd taken a picture of Richie standing in front of a group of trees. 

The picture seemed to bring Jon back down to reality, and he smiled, grabbing the frame and tracing his finger across Richie's face. "I'm sorry." He whispered. 

"For what?" Richie suddenly said, and Jon half-pushed himself up, turning to stare at the threshold of the door where Richie was standing. The sight of him was both terrifying and relieving, and Jon smiled thinly as he placed the photograph back onto the nightstand. 

"Nothing." Jon could hear the awkwardness in his statement. 

Richie walked into the room, having evidently discarded his shoes and jacket prior to entering. He was smiling, but there was something in his eyes - concern? "I don't think you've been getting enough sleep." He said finally, after a relatively long stretch of silence. Richie got into bed, crawled foward on his hands and knees, and then fell onto his stomach. "Because you've been acting really weird."

The concern made Jon feel strange. "Don't worry 'bout it." He said, allowing Richie to half-pull, half-drag his jacket off, trying to unzip it without moving too much, a task that was proving to be rather difficult. "I'll be fine in a few days." Jon nearly collided his head with Richie's when the older man accidentally wrenched him foward harder than needed, but managed to push back just in time. 

"A few days?" Richie repeated. "But I want you to feel better now. I never liked to see you like this." He frowned at the jacket when it proved to be just as stubborn as the man who was wearing it.

Jon shrugged. "It's no big deal." He leaned into Richie with his shoulder. "C'mon, let's find a new topic of conversation." 

"Okay." Richie agreed, grabbing Jon by the arm and pulling him so that his balance went sideways, flipping him onto his back like a fish on the grill. Jon huffed after a brief moment of panic, looking up at Richie's face, displeased but begrudgingly impressed. "I'm sure that we can find a new topic of conversation with you in this position." Richie said, with a mischievous little smirk stretching across his face. 

"Mhmm." Jon hummed, watching as Richie leaned down, and enveloped him in a passionate kiss. 

Richie really was a great kisser, Jon would give him that. 

The background noise - traffic, yelling - all faded away, replaced by just _them._ In that moment, nothing else mattered. Jon eagerly reached up and entangled his fingers in Richie's thick hair so he could pull him down for more, hoping to just disappear into the wonderful essence that was Richie. 

Pulling away for air, Richie rested his forehead against Jon's. "You're not getting let me get any further than this, are you?" He said, sounding vaguely amused. 

Jon winced. "You're probably dying for sex, aren't you?" He felt a familiar pang in his heart, knowing that he was the only reason that they were still caught in the rut that'd been holding them back. 

"Eh." Richie shrugged. "It's worth waiting for." He leaned down and kissed Jon again, tugging on his bottom lip with his teeth, and Jon tried to ignore the hardness that was pressing up against his kegs and the lust in Richie's eyes because if he didn't then he would fall apart - again. 

"Whatever you say, baby. Trust me here, okay?" Richie's lips skimmed Jon's neck, just barely grazing the skin. "No sex. I promise." He smiled, and raised his hand to rest a against the side of Jon's face before he went down again. 

Jon couldn't find the courage to admit to Richie that he did want to have sex - it was just that the implications were too much to deal with without having a panic attack. So he just kissed Richie heatedly, and hoped to drown out the voices in his head. 


	3. Chapter 3

Jon couldn't fall asleep. 

As he lay there, staring up at the ceiling, listening to the crickets, and the reassuring sound of Richie's breathing, Jon couldn't will himself to close his eyes to do anything other than blink, and, really, it was beginning to become a problem, just like everything else. 

Reaching over, Jon grabbed his phone from the nightstand, and he unlocked it so that he had something to do, at least, if his brain couldn't shut down enough to give him some rest. Jon noticed that he had unread messages, and he tapped onto the messenger app. He had three from his mom, one from his dad, and two from David. 

Jon didn't even know why David had his number. 

But he supposed that it was a good thing, seeing as how David always seemed to be around to help out, despite his rather studious job. He and Tico and Alec were reliable, and, for some reason, always seemed to be willing to help, even though they weren't even close. Friends, sure, but hardly anything more. 

' _Or is that just what you think?'_ Jon suddenly felt ashamed. 

Richie rolled over, but he remained asleep, still dressed in his work clothes, legs hanging over the edge of the bed. He was smiling, and the sight was ridiculously endearing, and Jon signed fondly, reaching out and pushing Richie's hair away from his face. 

Despite his reservations on the matter, Jon's mind soon morphed into the vague remembrance of that one time that Richie had told him about the lady he'd broken up with just before moving. Jon tried to image what she'd look like - probably blonde, and self-absorbed, and beautiful as the sun rising. 

"Oh, Christ." Jon buried his face in his hands, cursing himself as he slipped out of bed, feeling guilty but needing space. He hurried out of the room, feeling so stupid, so embarrassed, but he couldn't help the fact that his mind was going crazy with the lack of sleep. Jon walked into the kitchen, turned on the sink, and cupped his hands under the water, tossing it onto his face, as if trying to wake himself up, when all Jon wanted to do was fucking sleep. 

Jon wanted to go back to bed, and wrap his arms around Richie, and just forget about everything, if only it be for a few hours. He wanted to whisper to Richie that he looked so good in button-ups, but he looked even better without them. He wanted to let Richie know how much he loved him. 

But the words just wouldn't come. 

Sometimes, Jon would lock himself in the bathroom, even if he was completely alone, turn on the shower, and as the heat made the air hard to breathe, Jon would stand in front of the mirror, clutch the counter in an iron-tight grip, and try to force the words out. I love you. Easy, right? Except Jon's throat would feel like it was closing up, and his head would start to ache, and his vision would start to blur, and the words never came. Hours would pass, and the heat would make Jon feel dizzy, but he would stay there, trying to get those three little words to come to life, but they never did. 

If Jon could've, he would've screamed those words from the rooftops. 

But fear, and memories kept them deep within, lurching when he opened his mouth, but never moving. 

' _The last time you said it was when Janie died. When you found her, clutching at her broken body, as if you could bring her back by love alone.'_ Jon shivered, cringing when the feeling of her cold, stiff body pressed against his chest came back, thinking about how she was already in rigor mortis. ' _You had screamed it, so loudly that those hikers had heard you. I love you, remember? You had asked why, but you know why, Jonny-boy. She was broken. You didn't have the glue to put her back together.'_

Jon wondered, in a distant, faraway thought, if he could've saved her. 

' _Yes, now go back to bed.'_

He stumbled back into the room, peeled back the covers, and slipped underneath them. 

Richie blindly reached out, his hand raising up in the air and almost coming down onto Jon's head, but he grabbed it just in time, entangling their fingers together. 

' _Why did he come back? Why did he come back to you?'_

Jon lay down, closing his eyes so tightly that not a single drop of light could seep through into his consciousness, and he willed himself to calm down, to relax, and fall asleep so he could actually get some work done when the time came. 

-\\- 

_The apartment was cold._

_"Janie?" Jon could feel the wood beneath his feet, the wall beneath his hands, and it grounded him. "Jane?" He breathed in the sharp smell of blood, and Jon's breathe hitched, but it was okay, he tried to tell himself._

_She'd probably just cut herself on a knife._

_It was okay._

_Jon searched for a light switch, but there were none, and so he lurched toward like a zombie, blind in the night, unsure of where he was truly going, but there were memories, and Jon knew that he was close to the kitchen._

_The smell suddenly became so, so much worse, badly enough that Jon had to plug his nose with one of his hands for fear of getting sick. He stepped foward, and there was tile instead of wood, and something slippery. Jon held onto the wall like a fisherman, lost at sea, holding onto a piece of floating driftwood, wanting to see, by at the same time, so, so scared. He didn't know what he was going to find, but it would be bad, Jon knew._

_"Hon?" Jon found a light switch, and it was cold underneath his fingertips as he switched it on and the room was bathed in light, and there was Janie, standing in front of a cutting board, and there was a knife. It was shiny, serrated, new, and sharp, so sharp._

_Jon paused._

_Blood dripped onto the floor, pooling around Janie's bars feet, and spilling onto her light blue scrubs. She held the knife, and she was dragging it along her arms, creating a whole bloodied mess. The skin was torn open, revealing tendons and bone, bright white against dark red. Janie's face was stained with blood, and it coloured her teeth when she looked up and grinned, like a child, so proud of her work, wanting to show her parent some picture she'd drawn. "Hey, baby." Janie said._

_The light was flickering - it needed replaced._

_"I was just messin' around." Janie waved the knife around, and blood splattered onto the walls like some sort of paint onto a canvas. "You know how I can be. So, so messy. I should've just hung myself, huh, baby? That would've been good. Just snapped my neck, easy." She looked at the knife. "I know that this is new. I'm sorry, but it looked so pretty."_

_Jon opened his mouth, unsure of what to say, but no words would come out._

_"What? Cat got your tongue? Ha!" Janie tossed her head back - laughed once, and that was it._

_"Um - " Jon felt himself shaking. "A dream. This isn't real." He stepped backwards, but there was blood there, and he slipped, falling onto his backside. "You didn't like cutting. You wouldn't do this." He couldn't breathe - why couldn't he breathe? Jon grasped at his throat, trying to suck in a desperate mouthful, but all that came out was a hoarse gasp._

_Janie tilted her head. "Well, duh." She laughed again. "But you did it, and it looked so fun! Don't you wanna do it again?"_

_"N - no, no." Jon wanted to wake up. He desperately pinched at the soft inner skin of his forearm, trying to bring himself back to life. "No, get away from me." He slapped at Janie when he felt her crouch down, knowing that it wasn't her, wasn't his wife, but she was strong - too strong._

_The knife was cold._

_"Don't you wanna do it again?!" Janie was yelling, now. "But this time, nobody will save you!"_

_Jon didn't have any breathe left to scream with as the knife slid across his arms, and easily reopened the scars, letting blood trail down lazily, almost casually. Janie was laughing, and Jon could hear her - laughing, laughing, laughing._

-\\- 

"No!" Jon yelled out, lurching upwards, breathless, opening his eyes to a dark room and the feeling of a sharp knife lingering on his arms. He was breathing heavily, and his vision was blurred with tears. The remainders of the dream were still clinging to his mind, flashes of blood and bone, laughter that still rang out like rings of bells. 

The dream wasn't unfamiliar - in fact, Jon had experienced it several times, but it never failed to scare him, to drag him down the deep, dark abyss that remained within him. 

It took a moment for Jon's mind to comprehend that he was being touched, and those gentle, grazing hands nearly made Jon believe, only for a moment, that he was okay. That it was all just a dream - some nightmare that didn't matter, that didn't mean anything. "Hey, hey, calm down." Richie said, relatively calm despite the circumstances. "Just a nightmare." He kissed the side of Jon's head. 

"Yeah." Jon nodded, and he wiped roughly at his eyes, willing the tears to go away, because he couldn't fall apart, not then, not now. He ran his hands through his hair and took a deep, shuddering breathe. "Just a nightmare." 

Except it'd felt so real.

Richie seemed to debate with himself for a long moment. "Do you wanna talk about it?" He asked quietly. "You don't have to. It's fine, if you don't. I just - I read somewhere that its better to talk about nightmares than not, because if you don't, then there's a more likely chance that the nightmare will repeat itself." 

"It's fine. I'm fine. Nothing important." Jon rubbed his arms, but it wasn't because he was cold. "Let's go back to sleep, okay?" But his voice shook as the words slipped out. In truth, Jon didn't think he could go back to sleep, or so much as close his eyes without seeing Janie, and it terrified him. 

And Richie seemed to sense that. 

"Nah." He shook his head. "I got somethin' else better in mind." Richie smiled, suddenly awake and alert, practically leaping out of bed. "Get your shoes and jacket on." 

If the situation had, somehow, been different, Jon would've fought and just insisted on going hack to bed instead of on a random rendezvous in the middle of the night, but it couldn't hurt, could it? He wouldn't have been able to fall asleep, anyways, so there was no harm to be found in humoring Richie. 

So Jon slipped on his shoes and pulled on his coat, allowing himself to be led from the apartment, out into the hall, and into the elevator. Then out the elevator and down another hall. "Where are we going?" Jon eventually asked as Richie turned on his phone and shined the flashlight down a darkened hall as they moved foward. Jon was reminded of teenage misadventures, mistaken in their attempt at finding ghosts and all sorts of shit like that. 

"You'll see." Richie said cryptically as he opened a steel door, propping it open with his foot. He was smiling, and he reached out, pulling Jon by the arm, as if knowing that there wouldn't be any following otherwise. "Trust me." Richie whispered, his breathe ghosting against Jon's skin as he slowly placed his hands over Jon's eyes, blinding him completely. 

Jon felt himself tense. "Rich - " 

"Shhh. I got ya'." Richie stepped foward, and Jon had no choice but to do the same, trapped in front of Richie like some sort of hostage, except Jon really didn't want to be anywhere else. "I won't let you fall." Richie stepped up, and up, and up.

Without any other alternative, Jon carefully inched his feet forward, tentatively searching for the steps before he could step up. It was a slow moving, but after what seemed like hours, but was, in reality, only a few minutes, Richie shifted, and a door opened. 

Jon shivered as a gust of cold wind hit him, but he walked anyways. "Are we outside?" He said, because it wasn't really a question. 

"Yeah." Richie removed his hands from Jon's eyes, and then wrapped his arms around Jon's neck, resting his chin atop the other man's head, sounding smug. 

And Jon opened his mouth, confused, about to question what they were doing, really, but then his eyes caught on the glinting stars, and he looked up, seeing that the dark sky was filled with stars, bright and beautiful, like tiny white jewels. 

"Oh." Jon mumbled weakly, and Richie laughed, squeezing his shoulders. 

"Yeah." Richie said. "That sums it all up, doesn't it?" 


	4. Chapter 4

The sky was impossibly dark, spotted with bright, miniscule stars that shined blindingly in the distance. 

Jon felt himself smile, a relieved little twist of his lips, feeling his heart begin to calm down, as if the sight of the stars alone was enough to erase the aftereffects of the nightmare. "I've always loved stargazing." He said, raising his hand to curl around Richie's own. 

"Yeah. I do, too." Richie replied. "It's kinda freaky to think about how lonely it must be up there, trapped within a billion stars." His breathe was cold, ghosting faintly against Jon's neck. 

Richie wrapped his arms around Jon, resting his chin atop the younger man's head as they stood there. Gradually, the chills began to disappear, replaced by a strange warmth that seemed to not belong on that cold night, but words couldn't express how grateful Jon was for it, since the remaining strands of the nightmare didn't seem to want to remain. 

A gust of wind blew through the air, and Jon felt goosebumps trail down his arms, making him shiver. But then he looked back up at the stars, and it was such a beautiful sight that whatever displeasure that came from the cold was immediately chased away. 

"What was the nightmare about?" Richie asked. 

Jon shut his eyes. "Janie." He mumbled. 

"Right." Richie squeezed him. "And what happened?" 

Had the situation been different, Jon might've kept his lips tight against the questions, but the chill was making him feel sleepy, and he couldn't find it within himself to lie, not then, not with Richie holding him against the chill of the night. 

"She was - she was- " Jon winced, remembering the blood, bright against the darkness. His heart began to race again, and he suddenly remembered the way that Richie had looked at him when Jon had confessed what he'd done, and he felt sick. 

Richie was sweet and accepting, but he didn't know how Jon had felt during that night, when he lay in that bathtub with the razor in his hand, slitting his wrists with clumsy fingers. Richie had looked scared, and Jon felt disgusted at himself for that stupidity. He hated himself for not doing it properly, for not cutting a little deeper. Jon lowered his head, and forced air into his lungs before he passed out. 

"Jon?" Richie sounded concerned, and it hurt. 

' _I don't deserve that concern.'_ Jon thought, feeling so certain. "I don't want to talk about it." He said. 

In response, Richie squeezed him tighter. "Are you scared?" He whispered. "That if you tell me too much, I'll leave again?" 

Jon grit his teeth until his jaw screamed in pain. "Wouldn't you?" 

"I'm trying. You know I am." Richie replied. 

A moment passed, and Jon wished that he hadn't spoken at all. "No. I'm sorry." 

"Don't be." Richie said. "I'd feel the same. But right now, let's just not focus on that, okay?" He sounded so hopeful. 

Jon nodded. "I know you're trying. We're both trying." He was startled to feel a lone tear fall down his face, trailing down his cheek, and he wiped it away, feeling the coarse material of his coat burn against his skin. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to make you feel - I dunno. I don't mean to make you stay in the past." Jon didn't even know what he was trying to say, but Richie was warm, and the fact that he was even there at all would have to be enough. 

"You're not." Richie said, pressing his lips against the soft skin behind Jon's ear, brushing aside strands of brown hair as he did so. "I just want us to be okay again. Just like we used to be. But I understand that there's work we need to do."

There seemed to be a million things that had to be left unsaid for fear of ruining the peace. So many words, not enough time, and hardly enough knowledge to keep it together. But there was love, and that had to be enough.

"You know." Richie suddenly said, his voice breaking the temporary silence. "I don't care." 

"About what?" Jon asked, but his heart was in his throat, now, and he didn't know why it all had to be so difficult. 

Richie sighed, and one of his hands lowered, trailing down Jon's arm, fingers lightly dragging along Jon's coat sleeve, never betraying that careful trust, but edging close. "About what happened." He said. "The scars." 

The words felt heavy, and Jon flinched, his hands curling into fists so that his nails were digging into the palms of his hands. ' _It's a lie. He's lying. You know that he's lying. The second he sees them - it's all over. Your second chance will be ruined, and what next?'_ Jon wanted for nothing more than to believe otherwise, but he couldn't convince himself in anything by the truth. 

"That's what you say now." Jon said, and he looked back up at the stars, and he forced himself to breathe, to not just do something that he wouldn't be alive to regret. "Look at that one." Jon raised his hand and pointed up at the sky, toward a star that sat beside the half-moon. 

"Beautiful." Richie mumbled. "And I'm not talking about the star." 

Jon chuckled hoarsely. "You're so cheesy." He said, turning around and wrapping his arms around Richie's neck, his heart hammering against his chest, a faint remainder. 

"But you love it." Richie smiled. 

"Yeah." Jon wished he could say more, but the words would never come. 

Not yet, and perhaps not ever. 

The thought was frightening. 

After that, there was nothing left to do, and so they went back inside, to a warm yet dark apartment that whispered threats. The cat was dozing away on the arm of the couch, his tail flicking through the air, and Jon lightly scratched his back, fingers digging into the soft fur, reminded of the birthday that'd long come and gone, of how that birthday had been one of the last that Janie had been there for.

It had been one of the last that Jon had celebrated, anyways. 

He took off his shoes by the door, hanging his coat on the rack before moving away and walking into the bedroom, where Richie was, already peeling back the blankets and grabbing the ones that'd been tossed aside by Jon during the nightmare. The idea of going back to sleep, and being taunted by more distortions of Janie, was enough to make Jon's blood run cold, and, once again, the feeling of cold, sharp step against his arms was prominent. 

"C'mon." Richie whispered, taking off his jeans and kicking them aside. 

Jon tried to get his heart back under control, to not make more trouble. "You're picking those up tomorrow." He said. 

Richie smiled. "I will." 

And so Jon walked foward, lay down on the bed, mechanical, like a puppet with its strings cut off. There was dried blood on the mattress, and Jon frowned, pulling the blanket up and over it so that Richie wouldn't see it. If he did, Jon would just say that he had a nosebleed or something, because Jon knew where it'd come from, and saying the truth would only make the situation that much worse. 

Richie wrapped his arm around Jon's chest, a reassuring weight, grounding him to the world where Janie had never existed, where everything was okay, and Jon allowed that simple thing to lull him back to sleep. 

"I wish you would trust me." Richie whispered, his tone suggesting that he thought that Jon was asleep, secretive and tentative. 

Jon was too exhausted now that he was in bed to tell Richie that he trusted him with his life, but not with the millions of secrets and insecurities and fears, dreams and nightmares, memories that screamed in the dead of night. 

That morning, Richie left for work in a hurry, having slept in a little too late, and forcing Jon to have to calm the evident panic. "It's fine." He soothed as he tossed one of the clean suit jackets across the room to Richie, who seemed to be on his way toward a panic attack. 

"Two days late in two months." Richie said as he buttoned up the jacket and began to work on his tie. "They'll hate me. Once upon a time, I was the top paralegal in that firm, now, I'm second best." He smoothed down his hair. " _And_ I need a haircut."

Jon clicked his tongue. "One thing at a time." He said, powering up his laptop under the pretense of writing, but his mind was too chaotic for any reliable words to form. 

Twelve minutes later, Richie kissed Jon on the cheek and left, shutting the door a little too loudly in his rush to not get fired. And then, Jon watched as the car pulled out from the parking space and left the complex, out into the open world without so much as a care. 

After a moment of waiting, Jon deemed it safe. 

The blood wasn't liberal - only a few spots of it could be seen on the creamy white sheet, but it was nonetheless startling. Jon pulled down his sleeve and looked at his right arm, at the scar, and he could see scratches where his nails had dug into the healed flesh and pulled it open. "Christ." He muttered, rubbing his thumb over some of the blood that'd long dried, staining his sleeve in the process. 

As it appeared, during the nightmare, Jon had actually acted out the knife, and used his nails to scratch himself. It'd happened before, but not in awhile, not since Richie had been in his life. 

Jon put the sheet into the washer, praying that the blood would, at the very least, fade during the cycle, and he tossed his shirt in there too, knowing that it was more expendable. The cold air hit his skin, and he shivered, pouring in the laundry detergent and shutting the door. He went to the bathroom and ran his arm under the water, until the blood was cleaned, and then he put on a different shirt. 

Somebody knocked on the door, and Jon jumped, startled by the sudden noise. 

It was very rare for people to visit him, so Jon was quite anxious as he walked over and peered through the peephole. It was David, and the right was unexpectedly nice. Jon didn't have many friends, but no matter how many times he rebuffed David's attempts at being involved in his life, David just kept on trying, which was admired, even if it made Jon want to just hide forever. 

But, nowadays, Jon had found himself enjoying David's persistent presence. 

"Hi!" David was always in a good mood, it seemed. 

"Hey. What are you doing here?" Jon was actively trying to be more friendly, and tried his best not to seem rude, because he always came off as mean, even if he wasn't trying to. 

David shrugged, but he was smiling. "Oh, well, y'know, Tico said that I was being distracting, and Alec is on a _date,_ so I was just wondering if you would enjoy my company." 

In all honesty, Jon wanted to be alone, but friends were friends, and Richie was always going around, talking about how being around people was the best thing ever, and Jon supposed that he needed to make just as much of an effort to change, too. "Sure." He agreed, stepping aside so that David could come in. 

" _Wow-ee._ Richie really is a messy guy, ain't he?" David was grinning, hands on his hips, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. 

Jon glared. "Shut up." He muttered, kicking aside one of Richie's shoes that he'd left in the threshold. 

David held up his hands in defense. "Okay, calm down, there." His grin faded into an easy smile. "I'm not judging. To tell the truth, I'm just glad that you're not alone anymore." 

"I wasn't alone." Jon said. 

"And the cat doesn't count." David added quickly, meandering into the apartment, deliberately casual as he observed the messiness of the usually pristine space in a way that didn't seem done in disapproval nor approval. "I got Tico. Alec has his girlfriend. Nikki has Tommy. And you finally have somebody besides that mangy furball." 

"He isn't mangy!" Jon was surprised to find himself amused, despite the initial shock of irritation. 

David chuckled. "It's a joke, man." He shoved his hands into his pockets, and then glanced at the laptop. "Oh, were you working?" 

The question sent a jolt of guilt through Jon, who winced. "Ehm - no." He hated feeling so lazy, but writing seemed so impossible. The idea of Jon sitting down and putting words to the ground was rather incredulous. 

"Same, same. I have to grade papers, but, y'know." David shrugged. 

A moment passed. "Alec has a girlfriend?" Jon hadn't known that. 

"Mhmmm. Her name is Jena, without the extra 'n'." David sat down and started messing around on the laptop before Jon could deter him. "Feisty girl. They get along great." David paused, and then he sighed. "I wish I could find a woman one of these days." 

Jon reached over and rested his hand on David's shoulder. "You will." He said. 

"Eh." David looked rather disappointed. "I was married once." 

"Yeah?" Jon raised his eyebrows. 

David nodded. "Her name was April." 

For a moment, Jon expected the worst - cynicism was a terrible mistress. 

But then David smiled ruefully, shaking his head. "It just didn't work out. My ambitions didn't match hers." He paused. "I've always wanted to reconnect with her, but it's just too - I dunno, scary." 

"You should." Jon said quietly. "You only get one chance in life." 

' _And, for me, three chances at love.'_

David seemed to consider it for a moment, his fingers frozen on the keys, as if caught in thought. And then he smiled. "We'll see." 


End file.
